


Red Square

by quiveringbunny



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: ARGUS, Bratva, Eventual Smut, F/M, Intrigue, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiveringbunny/pseuds/quiveringbunny
Summary: Amanda Waller sent Oliver Queen to Russia to infiltrate the Bratva. But has she forgotten him there?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the first chapter of my new story. I have been wanting to do a Bratva fic for a while and I am excited to share it with you. Many thanks for the encouragement I have had from Tinaday3w, who is the greatest (and most overqualified) beta I could ask for and the fabulous Mellovesall who has also taken time away from her writing to make me gorgeous cover art. And finally, thanks to darling Scu11y22 for her continued encouragement (i.e. regularly asking when it would be published). You'll notice smatterings of college Russian throughout and cheesy explanations at the ends of chapters where that happens. Note: This story will be at least an M beginning in Chapter 2.
> 
> I don't own the characters. They just entertain me.

Red Square 

 

Chapter 1.

 

Two men were killed in a shitty low-rise apartment near the oil processing plant in Kapotnya and their bodies would not be found. Bratva had mechanisms in place, people who took care of such matters. Just like they had people who did the killing. Oliver Queen was one of those people. In recent months, he had become a trusted enforcer of the will and whims of Anatoly Knyazev, a man whose life he had saved years earlier, and tonight his will had been for Oliver to take out Andrej Petrov and Yuri, whose last name Oliver had never learned. 

Andrej had been a Капитан (captain) in Anatoly's organization up until Oliver plunged a knife into the man's ribs and whispered parting words from Anatoly about his fate being sealed when he decided to steal what didn't belong to him. Oliver delivered the message in passable Russian, which had improved over the past few months. Yuri was nobody, really. Just a goon who died, as he lived, in Andrej's shadow and also at the hands of the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood's only American member. He got no message beyond the bullet behind his ear.

As he sat in the back of an aging towncar heading back towards the center of Moscow, Oliver closed his eyes and let Petyr, the driver, navigate. Everyone in the organization had their job, after all. Oliver's just happened to be much different than driving and, if truth be known, it wasn't his only assignment.

He had infiltrated the Bratva at the behest of a little-known government agency called ARGUS. Once its director, Amanda Waller, learned that Oliver had an unexpected "in" with the criminal outfit, she had tasked him with renewing his relationship with Anatoly, for the purpose of learning more about their dealings. That was nearly six months prior and after multiple deaddrops of intel, Oliver had no instruction from Waller (via coded ads in the Pravda newspaper) in several weeks. Each day that passed took its toll on the Queen family's prodigal son, but today was worse. He had never felt less like a patriot and more like an irredeemable thug.

Near midnight, Oliver returned to the shabby brick building on Nikolskaya Ulitsa, not far from Red Square, where he spent most of his time. The bottom floor housed a bar that was Anatoly's base of operations and upstairs there were shabby apartments, one of which had been given to Oliver for his use.

He was anxious to get to his rooms. Not to sleep. He rarely got a restful night. He just wanted to be alone and decompress from the night. First a lukewarm shower (hot water was impossible to get in his room) and then a couple of swigs from the vodka bottle he kept on his nightstand. Since he couldn't afford to dull his wits or reflexes when he was surrounded by threatening circumstances, he avoided drinking when he was with other people. Unfortunately, before he could return to his peaceful quarters, he still needed to touch base with Anatoly.

"Oliver, my boy!" Anatoly approached Oliver and wrapped him in a practiced hug.

"Anatoly," Oliver accepted the man's embrace and was relieved when they separated. Anatoly signaled for him to sit down, so he sat in the chair across from his superior. 

"I have word that you have completed business tonight. You were able to deliver the message for me?" Anatoly gave him a cold grin.

“Da,” Oliver responded. He tried to employ a bit of Russian language from time to time, just to be respectful and demonstrate he was trying. “it was delivered. The matter is finished, as you requested."

"Good, good. I knew you were the man for the job."

Oliver nodded and shifted in his chair, keen to be released for the evening. 

"You know, Oliver, you have not been with us for very long, but you have already proven yourself invaluable to my business."

"I'm glad you think so," Oliver replied. _Because if I wasn't, I would be dead_ , he thought. 

"You carry out every task with precision and you are most reliable."

"I have learned much from you, Anatoly. The importance of discipline, efficiency and loyalty."

"Loyal, yes. But you are also smart. Strategic. And now I find that it is time to do some...what the American companies call...restructuring. I have need of a new captain and I have decided it will be you."

_Shit_. Oliver schooled his reaction carefully.

"Thank you very much, Anatoly for this honor." The sudden promotion was as much a curse as it was a compliment. Now he would have a higher profile in the Bratva, one that would give him access to more confidential matters, but he was also vaulting past scores of other men, dangerous ones, who had tenure and ambition.

Anatoly offered his hand and Oliver shook it with practiced sincerity, nodding his head at the end of the grasp.

"And now, Oliver, I have something special planned for you. You should always remember this night."

Oliver's curiosity was piqued. Anatoly had sociopathic tendencies and he had seen him turn on a dime. He watched the older man grin and wave someone over. Oliver hoped it wasn't someone he would have to fight. It had been a long night already. He was relieved when he realized a woman had joined them. He shifted in his seat and already began to turn on his charm before making eye contact with the black-haired beauty.

"Oliver, this is Katya."

"Hello, Katya," Oliver took the petite woman's small hand and placed a kiss on her knuckle. “Ochen preeyadna.”

The woman's blue eyes flashed at him and his breathing caught with recognition. She smiled softly. He perused her lasciviously, noticing she was dressed in a coat over black jeans and boots, an overnight bag at her feet. Not the typical look for a working girl in Moscow - the ones who emulated extras from old Robert Palmer videos.

"Oliver, Katya is going to take you upstairs now for your gift."

Anatoly had offered Oliver women before. There were a number of pros associated with the Bratva who were at his disposal, but Oliver didn't avail himself of their services or desperate attention. It would be even harder to deflect them now that he was becoming a captain. Latching onto a made man of rank all but assured a woman’s safety in the criminal world. He would have to tread carefully in the future to avoid getting stitched up. But this one was quite different and tonight he knew refusal could not be an option.

He quickly offered his boss a thank you and a wink.

"Upstairs then," he smirked towards the woman, eliciting a cocked eyebrow, followed by an upturn on her pouty lips.

Then, Oliver picked up the woman's bag and took her arm to lead her towards the back staircase. They climbed two flights up the narrow stairwell, wordlessly, then headed down a dark hallway until they reached Oliver's door. He grabbed the woman's shoulder, pulled her toward him and lowered his mouth to steal a hot kiss.

Was it really stealing if it was paid for?

He pressed her petite frame against the wooden door and didn't disengage from her mouth until he coaxed a whimper from her throat. She grasped his arms tightly. Apparently, she was no longer steady on her feet. Oliver fished his keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door, then tugged her inside.

 Oliver had no sooner dropped her bag when the door slammed shut. He locked it before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. He kissed her, hard and long enough for her to become accustomed to him. When he felt her kiss him back, sliding her tongue against his own, he reached between them and pulled her coat off her shoulders, loosening it enough to let it fall away. He did the same with his own leather jacket. He tugged the hem of his worn oxford shirt loose from his pants as he leaned in to assault her skin with his lips, teeth, and rough beard.

Oliver buried his mouth in the hollow of her pale neck and then murmured quietly in her ear.

“Camera in the hallway. I don't know if this room is still clean. Might have been bugged while I was out today. Can you check?"

"Mmm hmm,” he heard her moan in return. 

The woman ran her fingers through his hair. It was too long, longer than he usually wore it, but he liked the disguise of it. They kissed again until the woman gently pushed him away.

"Give me a minute to get ready. Then join me in the shower?" She spoke loud enough for a microphone to hear.

"Anything you say, Katya, or should I call you kotenok? You're so soft." He practically purred. Katya moved away, picked up her bag, and then headed for the open bathroom door. She switched on the light, then shut it behind her. 

As Oliver worked to open his shirt, he surveyed the room, looking to see if anything was out of place. He kept everything just so as a way to gauge whether or not his rooms had been entered or his minimal personal items tampered with in any way. He had learned to be paranoid because that was a good student of the Bratva. Bad students didn’t live very long. 

When Oliver heard the water commence in the shower, he hung his jacket on the back of a chair. Then he unfastened his shoulder holster and removed the pistol from its cradle. Gun in hand, he slipped off his shoes, then headed into the bathroom. 

 

///—>

 

For the first few months he was indentured to ARGUS, Oliver trained at their main facility - a secret bunker buried in the foot of the Shenandoah Mountains. There, he learned the lethal arts as well as the stealthy ones. He surpassed most of his fellow trainees in weaponry and physical combat. After the challenges he faced while stranded on Lian Yu, he was grateful to have a roof over his head and a full clip at his disposal. Still, he would rather use his bow, which was stored away in his footlocker beside his bed.

He rarely mixed with his colleagues. His experience on the island with Slade Wilson had left him untrusting of relationshipsforged in battle. There, at ARGUS OPS, Oliver observed everyone else while he polished the veneer that would be needed in order to do what was expected, preferably without the need to rely on anyone else. Other people were unreliable. Other people died while you were trying to save them. They were a liability. 

Robert Queen's son was a quick study and eventually became the lethal errand boy for the division chief, an ambitious and cunning woman named Amanda WallerShe appreciated his skills and adopted him as her own blunt instrument. Given a location and identity of a mark, Oliver would render her will with whatever level of violence required. He found he was quite good at it and, given that he had excelled at little more than partying in his youth, and he was technically working for the US of A, he usually managed to compartmentalize any ethical concerns.

By the end of his first year, he received his first long-term assignment. He was ordered to Russia, where he would embed himself with the Bratva. Waller knew that having a man inside the Russian mob might provide valuable intel about their arms sales and Queen seemed like a guy who could handle himself...if something went wrong and he got jammed up or pissed off the wrong hotheaded captain, he was expendable.

Once he arrived in Moscow, it had been easy for Oliver to make contact with the Bratva. All he had to do was pick a few fights (and win) in a few of the seedier dive bars downtown in order to cross paths with Anatoly, a man he had saved from imprisonment by a scientist gone mad,Anthony Ivo, during his time on Lian Yu. Anatoly owed Oliver his life, but over the past months it seemed that debt had been silently forgiven and now Oliver owed Anatoly somehow. 

He didn’t like his current situation at all and was keen to get out with his life…because the last thing he wanted to do was get in deeper with Russian organized crime. No, he wanted to return to Starling City and begin addressing the sins his family had wrought there.He wanted to go home. 

 

///—>

 

Entering the bathroom, Oliver closed the door behind him and discovered his female companion sitting on the closed toilet, eyes trained on an electronic tablet in her hands. She was still fully dressed and the contents of her bag were strewn on the floor and counter, already tweaking Oliver’s gradually developing OCD tendencies. 

“Hello,” he spoke and moved toward her, quietly, setting the gun down on the counter.

“Just a minute. You were right about a room bug. It’s a really lousy one. Like old KGB circa 1982 garage sale material. And those cameras in the hall are worse than a lame convenience store. Cheap lenses and the light is so bad out there they can hardly see anything but outlines. So you really didn’t have to do all...that…”

Oliver’s stealthy approach now put him an inch away. He bumped her knees with his own to get her attention. She grimaced and stopped speaking.

“You always were kind of a talker, Smoak,” he sighed. 

Felicity Smoak, MIT graduate and ARGUS technology specialist finally looked up at him, slightly agape. 

“You remember me?”

Oliver nodded and crouched down to her level, feeling the stretch in his legs. He needed to get to a gym soon and work out. 

“Even with black hair. We had a training together, Felicity. I guess you forgot.”

“No,” she might have sputtered. “I just didn’t think anybody noticed me unless I was falling ass over tea kettle on the obstacle course. Not exactly a natural in physical combat. You were the rock star.”

“Yeah, I was good at fighting. Not computers. Not the same things as you. Still, I’m not sure why Waller would send you here when you aren’t a practiced field agent. It’s dangerous to pretend to be a…a hooker around men like Anatoly. You could get into real trouble.” 

Oliver studied her face with serious intent. She tried to look tough with a few extra layers of makeup, but there was no question that beneath the cosmetics lurked the same quirky nerd goddess he admired from afar at ARGUS. The first time he noticed her at OPS, he knew right away she was different. Sweet. Street-wise, but not hard. Kind of funny. And fucking brilliant. Not like other women he’d been with at all, which he’d found intriguing at first, eventually attractive, but he knew he was way too damaged to allow himself to get close to someone at the Agency. Someone so lovely.

Felicity’s barking laughter jolted him back to reality. He watched her nestle her tablet between her thighs so her hands were free to cover her mouth and squelch subsequent giggles. Oliver regarded her curiously. 

“Well, that explains why you kissed me like that in the hallway. You thought I was, what? Some floozie hired to show you a good time?” 

“Yeah.” Oliver shifted uncomfortably. 

“But now you’re saying you thought I was miscast? You know, maybe I should be insulted that you didn’t think I was hot enough to be a mob whore. Is it the jeans? A short skirt would have been more appropriate? Or inappropriate as it were? Because that kiss seemed pretty hot. I mean, I rose to the occasion. And so did you, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Felicity,” his voice sounded a little exasperated. “What are you here for?” 

“Well, you’re right. I’m not here to be a prostitute. They would have sent Bertinelli for that.” 

At the mere mention of Helena Bertinelli, Oliver’s jaw tightened. She was a beautiful woman, alluring and perfectly suited for a Mata Hari-style op, except that she was also quite crazy and had a tendency to fixate on the men she worked with, to their ultimate detriment. He filled with relief that Helena wasn’t the person sitting in his bathroom. 

Oliver crossed his arms over his chest and waited for an answer. When it finally came, he couldn’t have been more surprised. 

“ARGUS informants here in Moscow got word you were being promoted and Knyazev was looking for someone…someone who could do your Bratva star.” 

“What? Now you do tattoos?” Oliver shook his head. This night was getting a little too surreal. Felicity stood up, forcing him to rise and stand toe to toe with her. Of course, he had to lower his head to retain eye contact with her. Unfortunately, she now appeared churlish. 

“Wow. It’s one thing to think I’m not hooker material, Oliver, but let me assure you I am quite a practiced tattoo artist. I was raised in Las Vegas and my mother’s brother Vince is a legend in that town. He did Ozzy Osbourne’s left arm. And Justin Bieber’s ankle. He taught me everything he knew. Then, I worked professionally while I was on scholarship at MIT, because even full scholarships don’t pay for everything. So, yes, I am quite qualified for this assignment. Overqualified, actually.” 

Towering over her, Oliver was reeling from the tongue-lashing and informational download he’d just had from the petite powerhouse in his bathroom. All he could do was nod and purse his lips together to stifle a smile. She was remarkable. 

“Hell, I could be a hooker _and_ a tattoo artist, you know.” She was bolder now than he’d ever seen her. Oliver was a little relieved because it seemed she could handle herself.

“Of course, Felicity.” He touched her arm lightly and tried to seem sincere. 

“So, we’re doing this,” she continued, summoning up her courage. “Now, if you would, please take a shower. You’re a little ripe…no offense…and I’d rather not risk infection.”

The resolve in her expression and the twinkle in her eye were diverting. His thoughts no longer revolved around the man he’d stabbed to death for Anatoly earlier that night. Oliver nodded and peeled off his shirt, exposing his marred flesh to her. To her credit, Felicity didn’t appear shocked or repulsed. Instead, she looked…intrigued. Tantalized, even. They maintained eye contact until the sound of his descending zipper broke their gaze. 

Felicity scrambled to lengthen the distance between them, diving for her overnight bag in search of “something.” Anything, really, to avert her eyes and reduce the tension that seemed to be peaking between them more strongly than ever. 

With a smirk and a head shake, Oliver slipped out of his pants and walked into the shower stall to enjoy the spray. 

“Are you joining me?” He smiled a little to himself at his question. Nothing entertains a bad boy more than making a good girl blush. 

“Maybe later,” she murmured back, diligently studying the tattooing apparatus in her bag.

A part of Oliver was a little disappointed that she wasn’t rushing to his side. He adjusted the temperature of the water to cool and sighed.  It was going to be a long night.

 

To Be Continued...

 

***************************************

Remedial Russian. ;-) Ochen preeyadna (Очень приятно) translates to “very nice” and is used conversationally when being introduced to someone to imply “very pleased to meet you.”

Kotyonok (Котенок) translates to “kitten”. And she is soft, isn’t she? :-)

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More about ARGUS. A little more Bratva. A little heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go with another chapter! I hope that you enjoy it!

The sound filled the main room of the apartment. It was the buzz of a tattoo machine, except the machine wasn't actually there. It was in the bathroom, where Felicity was branding Oliver. The noise in the main room emanated from Felicity's tablet - a clever ruse to distract listening devices while carrying on a secure conversation in private.

It had been Felicity's idea to unblock the bug in Oliver's sitting room. Disabling it for too long at a stretch might call attention and, perhaps, send someone to replace it. For now, occasional outages would be in keeping with the poor quality of Anatoly's aging tech and easily dismissed. And all it would pick up was the noise of a mechanism doing its job.

Felicity preferred to work in the bathroom for a number of reasons. First, the lighting was better -- and while the tattoo she was tasked to execute was not complicated, she always preferred to see where she was placing her needles. The bathroom also had the potential to be the most sanitary space in the apartment if properly cleaned first. She had brought disinfectant with her and carefully wiped down the area before beginning. Oliver looked grateful that germs would be kept to a minimum. Moscow was not a place where he wanted to be seriously ill with an infection. The third reason, the one Felicity would not speak aloud, was that the bathroom was quite easily the least dangerous room in the apartment. And by dangerous, she was referring (internally, of course) to the lack of soft horizontal surfaces. The thought of working on Oliver Queen, shirtless no less, on a couch or, god forbid, his bed, was more than she could handle right now. 

As a computer prodigy and early graduate from MIT, Felicity had joined ARGUS less than a year after receiving her degrees. She had first taken a position at Merlyn Global after being courted by their IT department, but it took only six months to realize that the role she had been promised, one that pointed towards a promising career path in research and development, was permanently stalled. The head of the company, Malcolm Merlyn, now seemed more interested in buying tech from other companies, like Kord Industries, than developing things in-house. Felicity then reached out to ARGUS, who had also tried to recruit her several times at school. They responded enthusiastically. The head of the division — Amanda Waller herself — called with the good news and Felicity began a few weeks later. Thus began her career in cyber security and intelligence at a level even she had never imagined.

***

Felicity saw Oliver for the first time on her second day at ARGUS. Mornings were tightly scheduled with physical and mental training exercises that all recruits were required to attend after the first day's orientation. Anxious to make a good first impression, she arrived early for her first session with her fight trainer, John Diggle, dressed in an over-sized standard issue grey sweatshirt and black yoga pants. Her hair was fastened in a ponytail and she looked like she was trying out for the ARGUS cheerleading team. If only they had one. 

When she entered the workout area she happened upon two men sparring. It didn't take long to realize that one of the men, the larger one, glistening with sweat and carrying himself like a soldier, was Diggle. He was a massive specimen of masculinity, good-looking and exuding confidence as he moved. 

Felicity might have been terrified at the prospect of having the powerful man as her coach, someone who could easily snap her in half. But she found herself too distracted by his opponent.  The sandy haired man in his mid-twenties, slightly panting and coated in a layer of moisture, was something to behold. She willed her mouth closed as she caught sight of his blue eyes searching for Diggle’s vulnerabilities with a quiet intensity. Then she reminded herself to breathe when the muscles on his broad, scarred back swelled and teased as he and Diggle circled each other.

She watched the younger man lunge. Then, they were in a kind of violent ballet. The veteran took hold of him and turned him in a graceful move that left him flattened on his back and exhaling loudly. 

Felicity’s heart stopped briefly when his shirtless chest, also scarred, but no less beautiful, presented itself. She realized this because it suddenly roared to life so strongly that the sound of it beating again throbbed in her ears. The thing that stopped the pounding was….clapping. John Diggle had snapped his hands together to indicate the end of his current session.

“Time’s up, Oliver. Great job, really. You’ll be training me pretty soon.” With a good-natured smile, Diggle reached his hand out to his serious sparring partner and pulled him up from the floor with an effortless tug.

“Thanks, Digg.” The one called Oliver accepted a towel tossed in his direction and proceeded to wipe the sweat from his face before caressing his sculpted shoulders with scratchy cotton — 

“Felicity Smoak?” Diggle asked with a warm, calm voice that seemed completely opposite to his intimidating appearance and raised Felicity from her estrogen-fueled reverie. 

“Y-Yes.” She focused and grinned back, looking quite adorable. She was swimming in her standard issue ARGUS sweatshirt and yoga pants. 

Diggle sized her up and nodded. “John Diggle. I’m here to teach you how to keep yourself alive.”

Felicity nodded and her smile morphed into something a tad more awkward. 

‘Have you ever learned any martial arts, Felicity?”

“I took a self-defense course once.”

“Yeah?” Diggle motioned for her to approach him on the mat as Oliver looked on with curiosity. “How’d you do?” 

Diggle used his hands to urge her to come at him. Felicity took a breath and then vaulted herself at the monolithic man in front of her. A moment later, she found herself dangling in mid-air helplessly as Diggle held her up with one hand, far enough away that she could only flail at him. 

“I got the badge,” she replied with a slight huff. 

Diggle smirked and shook his head. 

“A Girl Scout badge in self-defense, Felicity? Really?”

At this point, still suspended in the air, Felicity heard distinct laughter just beyond the mat. So did Diggle. 

“Tell me, at least, that you know how to run really, really fast, because I’m kind of worried about you surviving your career path right now,” her teacher deadpanned.

This elicited a louder chuckle from the gorgeous peanut gallery. 

Diggle set Felicity down to the ground like she was a porcelain tea pot. She grimaced at his gentleness, suddenly worried that she might fail out of the training program if she couldn’t master the physical side of the work.

“Tell me honestly, Felicity Smoak.” Diggle bent forward and looked her squarely in the eyes. Meanwhile, the chuckling stopped on the sidelines. “The work that’s done here is hard. It’s dangerous. Can you be tough? Are you capable of staying alive and being lethal? ”

Felicity looked at him and summoned up her most intense expression. “Mister Diggle, I know I’m not exactly ninja or anything. I don’t have actual experience fighting except for a TA in college who got too handsy and ended up with a limp for an entire semester. But if you give me a computer, I can destroy your life in less than forty-three seconds.”

Diggle quirked an eyebrow at her and studied her face. “Forty-three seconds, hm?”

The pint-sized digital warrior in her nodded back. 

“You’re the one from MIT, aren’t you? Lyla Michaels told me her cybersecurity department was getting a totally badass hacker.” 

“That’s me.”

“Not really the package I was expecting.”

“Still a badass,” she stood straighter, prouder all of a sudden.

“Alright, then,” Diggle sighed and stepped back, surveying her carefully. “It looks like our first order of business is to figure out how to keep you alive for at least…forty-FIVE seconds — so you can be your badass self and then have a couple of seconds to, you know, escape. Okay?”

Felicity smiled back and nodded enthusiastically. The challenge seemed more attainable now and she was relieved that Diggle wasn’t trying to wash her out of the program. 

“Good. First order of business. Ever been hit in the face?”

Felicity’s eyes grew to double their size, suddenly. 

“No, luckily, I have not.”

“Your luck runs out today, Forty Five.” Diggle’s eyes narrowed and he gave her a knowing look. “Nothing personal. But you have to get used to it. Being able to take a punch without reacting to it, without letting it slow you down, might save your life one day. Understand?”

Felicity thought about it a minute. Of course, it made sense. If she never felt the blow, she might always be afraid of it. “Yes, I do.”

“Hey Oliver. Come over here and clock Forty Five for me, will ya? I’m afraid I might knock her head clean off and then I’d have to explain to Ms. Waller how I broke her asset.”

“What?” she heard Oliver’s incredulous voice in the dark corner of the room. 

“You heard me, recruit. Get over here and knock Ms. Smoak on her ass.” 

She heard a loud sigh and then saw him, now sporting a grey t-shirt, darkened with sweat, approach them. 

“Okay,” he studied her with his blue eyes, but didn’t reveal any conclusions. Felicity bit her lip expectantly as Diggle observed silently. Was he really going to hit her? This was the worst “meet cute” ever. 

Suddenly, Felicity was never more grateful that she had remembered to wear contacts than when the best looking man she had ever met (well, technically they still had not officially met) raised his large hand, clasped her face with it and pushed her back and onto the mat like she was an inflatable punching clown. The only difference was that she didn’t pop back up. She lay there on the mat, soreness reverberating from her ass, which took the brunt of the fall. 

“Really, Oliver? That the best you could do?”

“Hey, I don’t want Waller pissed at me either.” The recruit shook his head. 

Felicity breathed deliberately as she sat up, immediately reaching to rub the soreness beneath her. 

“Anybody mind helping me up?” The two men looked down at the source of her voice, small and strained. “I think my butt is bruised.” 

Oliver cocked his head and then an eyebrow, obviously keen to check out the offended body part. “Yeah?” he smirked. 

“Head for the showers, Oliver. Your session is done for the day,” Diggle interrupted, lowering his paw for Felicity to grab onto. “Forty Five.” He hoisted her like a doll. 

“Sure, Digg,” Oliver chuckled to himself before nodding to the derriere Felicity was rubbing, and then leaving the training room. 

“You,” Digg said, leaning down to look Felicity in the eye, “have a lot of work to do.”

Felicity crossed paths with Oliver numerous times during the first months of training, but never exchanged more words than required for an assignment. Still, he made a point to glance at her butt during those occasions. A silent acknowledgement of their first encounter. And Felicity would shift uncomfortably, making him smile quietly to himself. 

There was an almost date. Well, more of a group date. After their class passed coursework, there was a party. Felicity found a comfortable perch on the rec room sofa where she could drink a glass of box wine and watch the festivities. It was great fun because she spent so much time alone investigating the dark web. But then Oliver wandered over, beer in hand, and had the temerity to join her on the couch. Most people would just plop down and sprawl out - but not Oliver of the perfect posture and panther-esque movements. He descended silently and proceeded to inundate her senses with charming small talk and irresistible aftershave lotion. At least she hoped it was aftershave lotion, because if it was his natural musk, well, that would just be cruel. 

Felicity managed to carry on a conversation with him and made him laugh four times (she counted). He had a great laugh — not too loud, but hearty. And it did things to his face. Made his dimples somehow even deeper. She got drunk on those dimples. The two were even beginning to scoot closer to one another to communicate above the party din.Then, Helena Bertinelli sauntered over in what looked like lingerie and basically straddled Oliver’s lap. Suddenly, Oliver’s attentions were elsewhere — and to be fair — how could he ignore the woman trying to do the mambo against his crotch? Felicity quietly moved away, not noticing that Oliver watched her and looked rather disappointed. By the time he managed to carefully unwind Bertinelli, Felicity was nowhere to be found. 

Days after the party, Oliver left to do field work while Felicity was immersed in supporting an international banking assignment. When she emerged from the drudgery of “mind-numbing bean counting”, she realized that the facility had become notably less handsome. 

****

Felicity never really stopped thinking about Oliver. Despite being basically little more than acquaintances, she had made him her “happy place” — the thing she thought about when she needed a distraction, when she was frustrated with a problem, when she was lonesome, and yes, when she was in bed at night and in need of a some fantasy companionship. The last thing was, perhaps, a little embarrassing, but she didn’t expect to see him again, so in her mind she told her self lusting after Oliver Queen was no worse than imagining herself with Chris Hemsworth. No harm. 

Oliver had been away on his most recent assignment for close to six months when Felicity noticed something a little strange during her occasional internal hack of the ARGUS computer systems. 

She wasn’t supposed to meander through confidential files, of course, but hacking regular computer networks could get really tedious when you worked at her level. She simply tested the firewalls from time to time, discovering the weak spots and would eventually clue her supervisor into the issues that she discovered. Usually. 

There were some irregularities in billing in Amanda Waller’s Special Projects account. Felicity knew enough about forensic accounting and espionage now, not to mention Waller’s reputation, to determine that something untoward was going on and it involved Oliver. She began to formulate some theories as to what might be going on and they troubled her. When she was called into Lyla Michael’s office and told her skill as a tattoo artist could be utilized to help a field agent, she almost turned down the assignment. But when she learned she would be helping Oliver, she quickly agreed. It might be the only way she could tell him about her suspicions. 

****

“I’m sorry about being a douchebag before,” Oliver said in a quiet voice.

“What?”

“You know, the shower comment. And kissing you like that.”

Felicity tried to summon a teasing smile, but it was hard to do when she felt a little smacked. 

“Are you sorry for kissing me, Oliver?”

“Like that, like it wasn’t…yeah.” She watched him huff and rub his face over his hands.

“Are you sure you don’t want numbing cream, Oliver?” Felicity took a break to adjust the tattoo machine. 

Oliver shook his head and looked at her with blinking blue eyes. “Do I look like someone who has a low tolerance for pain?” 

She allowed herself to be distracted by the marks on his skin, angry aberrations that interrupted his beautiful muscles and hinted at a dozen gruesome, untold stories.

“No,” she finally replied, pulling her gaze up to meet his blue eyes that were now looking at her intently. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be uncomfortable now.”

“I’m okay.” He sounded a bit too resolute now. He diverted his attention to the outline of the Bratva star that was now on his chest, but not before Felicity caught the sadness in his eyes. He wasn’t the same guy she had met in John Diggle’s training room. That young man had been energetic, cocky, clever and full of life. Now many of those qualities in him seemed masked by a dark cloud. Ironically, the cloud that dulled his more dazzling features actually made it possible for Felicity breathe now and reach out to him. 

Felicity sighed and put down the tattooing machine. She tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“You don’t seem okay. You know, you can talk to me.”

Oliver quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Just me. Not ARGUS. Whatever you want to say, I’ll listen.”

She stared at him with an earnest look, folding her lips together and showing him with every micro expression that she was telling the truth. He sighed and reached for the hand on his shoulder, covering it in his palms once before beginning to study her delicate fingers. 

“You know why you’re giving me this tattoo, Felicity? What it means in the Bratva?”

“You got a promotion. And instead of a corner office or a plaque, you get ink, right?”

“Yes, but there’s more to it than that.” 

Oliver was quiet for a few moments. Felicity didn’t press, sensing he would speak further when he was ready. She looked at him with unexpected warmth. Kindness. 

“You’re a good person, Felicity. I’m not…”

“Oliver, I’m not sure why you are saying that. One of the things we learned early in our training is that we are not the assignment. We are playing roles. Right now I am an angsty tattoo artist who is NOT a hooker, and you are playing a skeevy guy, but that’s not you. Not the real you.” 

“I killed three men tonight,” he stated plainly, never once taking his eyes off hers. He wanted to see her reaction, but there was none, so he pressed on. “That’s why I’m getting promoted. Anatoly told me to kill them. So I did and he gave me the job of one of those men.”

Felicity was quiet for a full minute. 

“That’s really interesting.”

“Interesting?” That was not a response he was expecting. It was not disgust or disappointment. Suddenly he was reminded why he was fascinated by this girl who was ten times smarter than anyone else in his class - she was unpredictable and saw things from a different angle. 

“Tell me something. When did you get the order to kill those men?”

“This morning. Anatoly discovered they were disloyal. Greedy. He has no patience for that kind of thing.”

Felicity shook her head strongly. “Oliver, I got this assignment three days ago. Doesn’t that seem hinky to you?”

“Hinky?” Oliver still held her hand, but was now massaging it. He wasn’t doing it on purpose. It was just an innate thing, a way to connect with something…nice. 

“Yeah, weird,” she continued. “But in a way it’s good because it…well, I have been putting together some ideas and this dovetails into them quite nicely.”

“I don’t understand,” he shook his head. 

Felicity raised her other hand, placed it against his jaw and spoke quietly. “But you will. I promise. You’re a good person. You are not this.” 

She wasn’t sure what possessed her at the moment, but without thinking — a rarity for her — she leaned up and kissed his cheek. Such a simple, innocent thing to do, really. Comfort and encouragement to a friend in pain. Her lips lingered against his stubbled cheek a little longer than necessary. Long enough for Oliver to slide a hand around her neck and hold her still while he turned his head. Then his lips brushed against hers. Felicity’s breath caught for a moment as she felt his warmth. He pressed his mouth against hers with increasing pressure, once, no twice. This wasn’t like before. It felt achingly real. And then it was over and Oliver’s head moved so he could rest his forehead against hers. 

****

Felicity was in a rundown bathroom in Moscow pressed up against a half-naked Oliver Queen and they had just kissed. What had begun as a kindness had quietly morphed into something a little more interesting and now her head was reeling. Perhaps he had kissed her as a way to be kind himself? To apologize further for assaulting her lips in the hallway. Or maybe he was actually into her? 

No frakking way. She was reading too much into it. At ARGUS he had just been a guy who liked to tease and flirt a little. He wasn’t actually attracted to her. That’s what her brain kept telling her on a loop. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She found herself holding her breath again until it was literally impossible for her to refrain from speaking. 

“Oliver,” she whispered against his ear. “Are we friends now?”

 He pulled away after processing the question. 

“Weren’t we friends before?”

“Well, yes,” she stammered. “I mean, I was your friend, but I didn’t think you thought of me that way. You know, I was just somebody you passed in the hall but didn’t talk to very much.”

Oliver’s confused look became a mild grin.

“I felt a little intimidated, honestly.” 

That was pretty much the craziest thing Felicity had ever heard. She cocked her head to the side and gave him her most dubious expression. 

“Bull crap.” 

Then Oliver Queen laughed that laugh she had enjoyed so much at the party so many nights ago. She willed herself not to be derailed by its charm. Then he must have noticed because he took a breath and got serious. 

“You were the smartest woman in our class, Felicity. Hell, probably the smartest person I’ve ever met. I didn’t know what to say to you. I only knew how to flirt with regular girls.”

“Hey, I can be average” she retorted. 

“No you can’t, Felicity. You are a remarkable person in every way possible. From your crazy brain to your filterless mouth to your irresistible ass. That is who you are. Deal with it.”

And then she blushed. She tried not to. She really did. But he wasn’t just looking at her at that moment. He was seeing her. 

“My ass is irresistible?” A giggle actually erupted from her throat. 

Oliver’s smile subsided and suddenly he was smoldering and silent. Then she felt his hands slide down her waist and come to rest around the curve of her backside. Felicity watched him close his eyes, like he was saying a prayer of thanks to some butt-centric deity for being given the opportunity. 

“You have no idea,” he sighed. His fingers lingered against her jeans and his palms kneaded her through the soft, tight denim. Oliver’s chest was inches away from her face. She could hear his breathing and his strong biceps were in her grip. Felicity almost lost herself in the feelings, entirely. 

“Wait. Before this goes any further…”

The Bratva Captain was unwillingly pulled out of his reverie.

“Oliver, there are some things we should talk about first. I need to tell you what’s going on. What I think is going on, before you kiss me again and I lose all reason.”

He smiled at her again and then nodded with a curious look. Felicity, with no small amount of effort, pulled his hands from her posterior and took two steps back to create some sane distance between them. 

“You’re working for the Bratva, Oliver.” She said breathlessly.

“Yes, Felicity. I know that. ARGUS sent me to infiltrate Anatoly’s organization.”

“No,” she countered. “I mean, yes, I think that’s how it started. But, Oliver, I’ve been doing some digging. And you know I’m scary when I do that, right? Nothing can be hidden once I know to look for it.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying, Felicity.”

“As far as I can tell, from all of my research, a few months after Waller placed you on this assignment, you stopped being an ARGUS agent. You were basically deleted. Your HR records were quietly erased. Payroll stopped being sent to your offshore account. And around the same time that happened, Amanda Waller began getting bank transfers from Russia to the tune of ten thousand dollars a month.”

The incredulous look that had been building on Oliver’s face changed into one of anger. 

“Oliver, I think she…sold you to Knyazev.”

*****

“Fuck.” 

That was all he could say aloud. He was seeing red now. How had this happened to him? How could he have let himself be used this way? He had murdered people earlier that night for absolutely no reason. And now he was not a patriot, but an indentured killer for the Russian mafia. 

“That can’t be true, Felicity,” his words nearly slurred. 

Oliver was panting. It was only Felicity’s hands resting on his cheeks again that grounded him and stopped him from spiraling into a full meltdown. 

“Oliver, I need you to focus so I can tell you everything else.” 

He gave her a defeated look, unsure that he could handle any more revelations at that moment.

“You told me that Anatoly gave you the order to kill that Captain you took over from tonight, right? Well, I got the assignment to come here to tattoo you three days ago. That means that Waller knew Anatoly’s plans for you before you did. I think that proves they are connected.” 

This information was very helpful. It got the wheels turning in Oliver’s head and distracted him from the epic horror of the situation. He began running through the events of the last months and trying to determine what he might have missed along the way, clues that he had become a pawn. 

Just as he was about to ask Felicity who else she thought might be involved on the ARGUS side, there was a sharp knock at his bedroom door. The two looked at each other with panic. 

Felicity was the first to move. She rushed into the main room and turned off the sound on the noisy tablet. Oliver headed towards the door, then stopped and watched as she ducked back into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. 

Oliver schooled his expression to one of disinterest before opening his apartment door. Of course, the person on the other side would be Anatoly - the second to the last person he wanted to deal with at that moment (the first being Waller, herself). 

The small bearded man eyed Oliver’s half-completed tattoo. He didn’t look happy.

“Anatoly,” Oliver nodded. 

“Oliver, my boy, what is this?” He waved toward’s Oliver’s chest. “Why is it not finished yet?” 

Before Oliver could answer, the bathroom door opened and “Katya” sauntered out in what appeared to be nothing but Oliver’s discarded shirt. She approached the men and wrapped herself around Oliver’s waist. Anatoly’s eyebrow shot up and he grinned. 

“Sorry, Anatoly. Kotenok and I got a little distracted halfway through.” Oliver took this opportunity to obviously slide his hand down to rest it on the sweet swell of her derriere. 

“I can see that. And I completely understand.” Anatoly winked at Katya, which unbeknownst to him, caused her stomach to roll. She swallowed hard, planted a kiss on Oliver’s chest, then dragged her finger along his bicep. “Still, this will be completed by morning…yes?”  


Katya nodded and disengaged from Oliver. She headed back into the bathroom, opting not to try a sexy walk back — she knew that could be a disaster — and closed the door. 

“Good to see you having a little fun, Oliver. It is. But I need you to begin your new duties in the morning.”

“Of course, Anatoly.” Oliver nodded seriously, internally contemplating ways to make his old “friend” pay for buying him. 

“And there is one more thing.” Anatoly reached his hand up to pull Oliver down so that he could whisper roughly in his ear. “When the mark is finished and you are done playing with this kitten, you must drown it. Call the crew after and they will take care of the mess.”

Anatoly let go and then studied Oliver’s features for any sign of an inclination towards insubordination. Men could get like that about women. But he saw nothing but a nod of understanding from Oliver. That made his heart swell. He had chosen the right person to be Captain. And every penny he paid to the ARGUS woman for an expertly trained killer, a ghost among men, seemed worth it. And now he would do this thing for his colleague, his brother — eliminate a girl considered a threat within Waller’s agency. And the whole thing would be done quickly and quietly. 

*****

When Oliver burst into the bathroom, Felicity was leaning against the sink. She was trying to look sexy and affected a “come hither” expression. Stripping down and putting on Oliver’s shirt during an adrenaline-fueled situation had started her motor and she was feeling flushed with energy. Sexual energy. 

“Hi,” she nearly purred at the blur of shirtless masculine beauty racing toward her. 

She missed the look of concern on his face. The furrow on his forehead. The way his fists were clenched. And then he was enveloping her in his powerful arms and crushing her in a hug. Damn, if that wasn’t a great feeling. Felicity’s hands roamed up his arms, to his shoulders, until she reached his hair, burying her fingers in his long locks. 

Eventually, Oliver’s body relaxed a little. His breathing slowed as well. They were quiet for another minute before Felicity felt compelled to say something. Her voice was a little muffled due to the ongoing embrace and her face being pressed against his shoulder. 

“I’d really like to kiss you again. If you want to.” 

“Felicity.” His voice was…sad. Not the sound of a man who wanted to be kissing her. 

“That’s okay, Oliver. It was a crazy idea.”

Oliver pulled away and looked into her eyes. “No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t. Kissing you could never be a crazy idea.”

“Good then,” she grinned and moved forward to find his lips with her own. It was nothing less than lusty and it didn’t take long for Oliver to return the sentiment. His hands roamed her body greedily, smoothing the fabric of the shirt he knew so well over her feminine form. When lips were not enough, his mouth opened to hers without any sense of control. He pressed her against the sink and she moaned. 

The two lived in each other’s kiss as time slowed and their bodies fused together. Just about the time Felicity felt her hips straining against his hard groin, he pulled back, out of breath.

“We need to talk. I have to tell you something.” His voice sounded ragged. 

Felicity held onto his forearms and looked up at him with swollen lips and a drunken smile. 

“Don’t worry, Oliver. Everything is going to be alright. I don’t think he suspects anything.”

“Felicity, he just told me I’m supposed to kill you.” He looked at her solemnly. His eyes flashed down to the cold tile floor for a moment, ashamed that he was a killer now, that anyone would ask him to take her life like they were ordering a sandwich. 

Her state of bliss was jarred and her eyebrows shot up.“Really? When?” 

“What?” He looked up at her with confusion, not having expected that followup question. 

“When am I supposed to die?” 

“In the morning.” His voice was heavy with concern. 

“Oh,” she replied with a sigh. “Well, that’s hours from now.” 

“Felicity. We are both fucked here. We need to come up with a plan.” 

“We will,” she smiled softly and then began slowly unbuttoning the shirt that hung comically around her frame.

Oliver watched her with a mixture of awe and desire. 

“Felicity,” he groaned, as the shirt landed on the floor in a rumpled pool around her bare legs. 

“We’ll be okay, Oliver. We’ll get out of this, I promise.” She circled his neck with her arms and pressed her breasts against his warm chest, mindful of the side that was sensitive from the tattoo. But he had assured her he could take a lot of pain, so she didn’t hold back much. 

“I’m remarkable, remember?” Then she licked his collarbone and he allowed himself to let go of everything but her. She was Felicity Smoak. He was Oliver Queen. And they would figure out a solution together. 

 

End of Chapter 2. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Thanks also for your kudos and comments. They mean more than I can say!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting. I really do appreciate it.


End file.
